From Russia, With Love
by Makemegray
Summary: Well...At least you're better than a whelk"


**Title:** From Russia, With Love (parte un)  
**Fandom:** Honeydew Syndrome  
**Pairing:** Charles/Jay....Or...Jay/Charles....I'm not sure ORZ  
**Word Count:** 1410  
**Warnings:**...Er...Boylove...Sarcasm/Snark...Charles ruining peoples lives?  
**Notes:** This is one of Rara's fics for the 100 fic challenge; I...just...I have nothing else to say about it but that...Oh...and that I realize some of my canon is misplaced...I realized this after I got through with Part 1 and was re-reading the comic to double check things. But....it's kinda too late to change it since the entirety of the fic depends on the format of that mistake...oh well..

* * *

The first time you meet, he sneers at you and calls you a poser.

Because obviously, everyone who isn't Charles must (obviously), logically be far less genuine than they appear. You smoke because you think it makes you look cool, not because you have an oral fixation and a nicotine addiction.

You wear your hair long because it made you more popular with girls, not because you were a little terrified of the barbershop. You died the front and wore black nail polish because it made you fit in with the Emos and Scene kids, not because you just liked black. Right, Obviously.

The second time you meet him, it's with Metis and he's formally introducing you and he's all smiles (the poser!). He holds his hand out for you to shake and is generally pleasant, if a little snarky.

Because he can't misbehave in front of his master, can he? Or else might get--

...Right...and that's as far as you were going to go with that thought...

The third time you meet, you're teamed up for that stupid project.

And because you're a poser, you couldn't possibly be as intelligent as you seemed to be, so obviously it would make the most sense for the ineffible one to do the entire project without telling you and turn it in early so you have no chance to protest.

You get a 98% and he smirks at you and says, "You're welcome" in response to your jaw dropping when you get the assignment back.

Meetings #4-33 are more of the same:

Charles: Greetings Poser  
You: *sigh* And how am I a poser again?  
Charles: *smirk* Shouldn't it be obvious by now?  
You: ....If it was obvious I wouldn't be asking!  
The Dark One: *sneer* Then you don't deserve to know.

And then he walks away...or ignores you completely if Metis happens to be there.

Meeting number 34 scares the shit out of you and it's all that stupid little emo brat's fault as he sneers and your consider crapping your pants as he smirks and he hands that card back to you and says _that_!

You vow to destroy Metis the next time you see him.

Meetings 35-37 are back to the normal fare.

You're almost comforted by the insults and the snark and the evil and the holy gods of warcraft...are you seriously considering him asking him out?!

You bang your head on the table when the subject comes up and you're not altogether sure whether this "Asking Satan Out" thing is your idea or Sarah's...

Because you are a doormat, always have been. Why else haven't you punched that snarky asshole out by now?

So, in true fashion you go.

With Courage and Honor.

And run the hell away...

And karma kicks you in the ass for that in biology, doesn't it?

You get sick in the stomach just thinking about it.

Almost as sick as you felt when Josh said the he had asked Charles out first.

You'd been ready to rip him apart for some reason until he'd started cracking up...

Maybe you need serious medical help...

You hate the evil bastard don't you?!

WTF!

You should be overjoyed at the thought of someone else asking him out before you!

Because maybe he would be too busy torturing his significant other to even spare a second glance your way.

Except...you just happened to go and initiate meeting #38 yourself didn't you?

Fucking doormat that you are, somehow you got suckered into DD, didn't you?

Dumbass...

So you sit in the backroom with all the other DD's playing Rock Band until you hear the crash and somehow (magically!...dumbass...) you were elected to be the one to go check it out.

Meeting 38.5 consists of you and a semi-drunk Metis attempting to haul a drunker and likey concussed Charles out to your car where neither of them will answer your inquiries about what the bloody hell had happened in there.

From the glare Josh sent at the two of them when you left, you could figure it out yourself...

Meeting #39, the root-of-all-evil was...depressed? Head on the table, emo-sighs and silence depressed.

And you immediately know why and even though you shouldn't, you know you have to, so you sit across the table from him and stare at the top of his head for 15 before he gets annoyed and glares up at you.

You're sure your ancestors in their graves in the old country are spinning a 180 at that one but you don't back down, no, you pick this moment to hold your ground and you smirk, propping your chin on your fists. Because for once, you have the emotional high ground. For once, you've got him on the ropes, got him shit-kicked and cornered, got him--

"Hey Poser...Wanna go out?"

"...Buh?"

And fuck all if he doesn't lean back, hands pulled behind his head and fucking **smirk** at your intelligent response, slack-jaw and wide eyes.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, smirking for a few moments, basking in his glory of catching you off guard, before his brow furrows and he leans forward, steepling his fingers in front of him.

Uh-oh...You've seen that one before...

That was his battle stance. The one that mean that some oil tanker off the coast of Russia was about to get ransacked by pirates or some foreign dignitary was about to get assassinated by women named after snakes.

You hated yourself for shuddering then, for showing that little bit of weakness...but honestly, greater men than you have fallen to that one...

"Look, it's not like I have any sort of affection for you or anything. On the contrary, I hate you. Loathe you and your kind. But Metis is going out with Josh..."

Ah...of course that was it...There was no way in hell he could've...

So you worked up an answering smirk and leaned back, emulating his earlier pose, kicking it up a notch by leaning your chair back.

"Ah, I get it. The Might Charles can't be the third wheel. If you hate me so much then why in the world would you ask me? I'm sure there are plenty of other people you could ask."

He gives you his "Stupid Poser" look and massages his eyes.

"Because you're a masochist and for some reason, you have a crush on me."

For the second time in as many minutes, you do your fish impression before recovering (and no you were not blushing!) and you let your chair fall to the ground with a crash.

"Wh-what?! Where in the hell would you get an idea like that?! I hate you too!"

"Save it." He sighs and waves a dismissive hand at you. "May told me to be nicer to you because your feelings were starting to get hurt. And then he had you give me that card."

...**The emo brat was dead**...

"So stop being a pussy and just agree already. It's win-win. I don't have to put up with May's nesting syndrome where he tries to set me up with anything and everything he can think of and you get to live out your fantasy."

"...Fuck you." Another smirk. An 11 on the evil scale as bends to pick up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes Charlers! I would be so honored to be your fake boyfriend! Thank you so very much for giving me this opportunity! I won't let you down!'" A snicker "Pick me up after school and we can start making a public spectacle of ourselves. "

He starts to walk away and you were start contemplating suicide when he backtracks to your side of the table and sinks a fist into your hair, yanking your head backwards and crushing his mouth into yours and holy shit you get hard right then and there and just as you're about to pull him down and...shit, who knows, fuck him right there in the middle of the cafeteria...he pulls back and away.

Your only comfort is the haze in his eyes and the bulge in his own pants as he takes a moment to forcibly calm himself down.

"Well...At least you're better than a whelk."

And you sit there for another ten minutes (replaying the image of him walking away over and over in your mind) and wondering what the _fuck_ a Whelk was and what the hell Charles was doing kissing them!


End file.
